


Iwaizumi Hajime vs. the Universe

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - High School, Hajime's POV, M/M, Making Out, Seven Minutes In Heaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I swear to God that this isn't a love story. This isn't some quirky, pretentious tale of endless, eternal romance.</p>
<p>I hate shit like that.</p>
<p>Tooru loves it, though. I guess that's why it's labeled as such, but it's not.</p>
<p>I mean, how many love stories start in a porn store?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Iwaizumi Hajime’s Precious Little Life

**Author's Note:**

> I promised my Tumblr buddies that I'd write a story in which Tooru is a gay communist DJ, based on a 4 A.M. thought of mine. This is it. There're some minor changes. He's a bisexual communist. Like me.
> 
> There aren't that many stories written in first person in this fandom, and I wanted to change that, so here's this. It's sweet and silly. 
> 
> I hope you like it.

When I was little, my dad used to tell me, “Hajime, you can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friends’ nose.”

This seemed like a reasonably astute observation at the time, but it turns out to be incorrect on a few levels. To begin with, you cannot possibly pick your friends, or else I would have never ended up with Oikawa Tooru, or, as he calls himself , and I swear to you this is true, he _actually_ calls himself this, Oikawa _Tall, Bi, and Ready to Try_ Tooru.

Tooru is not the world’s tallest person, even though he’s 184.3 centimetres, last time I checked, and he is not the world’s greatest bisexual being, but I believe that he may be the world’s tallest person who is really, really bi, and also the world’s bi-est person who is really, really tall. Tooru has been my friend since fourth grade, except for the summer between ninth and tenth grade, when he was busy discovering the scope of his own gayness, and I was busy trying to assemble a Group of Friends TM for the first time of my life, who, eventually, never talked to me again due to two transgressions early in the same year:

  1. After some school-board member got upset about those ‘ _damn gays_ ’ in the locker room, I defended Tooru’s right to both be tall and therefore, by default, the star member of our sort of shitty volleyball team, _and_ fifty to seventy-five percent gay, it depended on the situation and the guy, since he had a type, _obviously_ , in a letter to the school newspaper that I signed.
  2. This guy in said Group of Friends TM named Satori was talking about that letter in lunch, and in the process of talking about it, called me a bitchsquealer, and I didn’t know what the _fuck_ a bitchsquealer was, so I told him, ‘ _What did you just call me?_ ’ and then all he answered was ‘ _Bitchsquealer. I called you a bitchsquealer._ ’, so I told him to fuck off and took my lunch and left.



Truthfully, I supposed that, technically, I left the Group of Friends TM, although it really felt the other way around since, honestly, none of them seemed to like me, they were simply there, which wasn’t nothing. It made me feel sort of good and wanted, and now that they aren’t around, I was utterly bereft of social peers, unless you count Tooru, which I suppose I must.

All of that didn’t really matter a year later, anyway, and so there was, a few weeks after Semester break, sitting in my assigned seat when Tooru waltzes in. Every day, he manages to wedge himself into the chair desk beside mine, and every day, I am amazed he can do it, since his legs are so lanky and all. His knees can’t be bent under it. It’s sort of a miracle.

So Tooru squeezed into his chair, and I am duly amazed, and then he turns to me and whispers really loudly, since he secretly wants the others to hear, “I’m in love.”

Here’s the thing, though. Tooru falls in love every hour on the hour with some poor new boy or girl. The girls are always shorter than him, and the boys are always on some sports team. He likes the captains or aces the most. They all look the same, too: Muscular with big, fat arms and always sweaty and tan. The last trait is an abomination, because all tans in January are fake, and boys who fake tan— I don’t care whether they’re gay or not— are ridiculous.

“That’s not hot shit.” I answer, “It’s not even cold piss.”

“You’re so bad mannered,” Tooru says, waving his hand at me. I swat it away.

“You’re cynical.” he says.

“I’m practical.”

“You’re heartless.” he replies. He’s been saying that ever since we watched this film _All Dogs Go to Heaven_. Tooru bawled his fucking eyes out. I did not. Ergo, he thinks that I am incapable of what humans call emotion, since, going from the title, I should have known that it wouldn’t end merrily, and it didn’t, but I didn’t really see the point of crying. The filmmakers weren’t there to see my reaction, it was just Tooru and I on his sofa, and I feel like crying is almost— aside from death, or whatever— totally avoidable if you follow two simple rules throughout your life: don’t care too much, and shut up.

Tooru says I only hide my emotions because of the patriarchy. I didn’t care though, mostly because I had to Google what that word even meant. He’s been really into politics, lately. His mother thinks he’s a communist because he read _Das Kapital_ over summer vacation, though judging for his love for shitty American documentaries about conspiracy theories and aliens, he’s fucking awful at being one.

“Love isn’t real.” I say, just to piss him off, and it works. He pouts.

“It _is_ ,” he whines, “I know love is real because I feel it.”

I keep repeating those words in my head even after Tooru prances out and goes to his own seat, across the classroom, since the teacher knew that, otherwise, he’d only ever speak to me, and that would be sort of horrible for the both of us, grades wise.

I even think of them after class, staring at my locker, and wondering how I managed to leave _The Scarlet Letter_ at home, since I had English right after break, when Tooru comes up to me with his Gay-Straight Alliance— Tooru initiated that club, of course he did— friends. Both of them. There’s Issei— who is gay— and Takahiro— who may or may not be his boyfriend, I never asked.

“Apparently _everyone_ thinks I professed my undying love for you in class this morning,” Tooru says, and I groan inwardly, since if Tooru says that everyone said so, it really meant that absolutely no one has ever said so.

“Great.” I say.

“People are such idiots,” he says, “Isn’t that just the silliest crap you’ve ever heard?”

“There’s a difference between being in love and announcing it to people.” Issei starts, “I mean, don’t get me wrong. You have every right to love Daichi—”

“ _Tetsuro_.”

“Wait, _what_? I thought it was Daichi! He was the one on the football team, right?” Takahiro interrupts, “What happened to him?”

“I liked Daichi.” I say.

“Yeah, me too. He was great.” Takahiro agrees.

“Really polite,” Issei says, “He’s just such a nice guy, y’know?”

“Well,” Tooru intercepts, “It’s _Tetsuro_ now, and _he’s_ on the baseball team.”

“Tooru, you being a make-out whore is _so_ not good for the cause.” Issei groans as he bangs his forehead against the steel of my locker.

“Are you a communist now too, Issei?” I ask.

“I’m not a communist!” Tooru hisses.

“Sure,” I say, “Just quell those rumours of our love. It hurts my chances with the ladies.”

“Calling them _the ladies_ doesn’t help either.” Tooru sighs, “Sometimes I forget you’re straight,” he says, “You’re practically the last straight friend I’ve got, which is a shame, since I could find you _such_ a nice boyfriend!”

“Like Tooru,” hums Takahiro.

“For the record,” Issei agrees, “You could do so much worse than dating Oikawa Tooru.”

“And he has,” Takahiro notes, “They’d be good together. Tooru has done a lot worse, too. They could talk about their past experiences over a romantic candlelit dinner. How about it, Tooru? You free this Friday?”

“Did you just hit on Tooru... for me?” I ask.

“Hell _yeah_ we did!” they say, and high-fived, too. It was sort of embarrassing. Like watching your parents kiss in public, or something.

Tooru snorts, then, and I feel warm all over. I probably blush, too, though I respond the way I always to do any emotions: by looking down and walking straight and fast. I know they’re kidding. I know part of knowing someone is being mean to them or whatever. Tooru always says some brilliant thing to me back, something like, ‘ _For someone who theoretically doesn’t want me, you sure spend a lot of time thinking and talking about me._ ’ and maybe that works for Tooru, but it never works for me. The only thing that works is shutting up, and so I shut up, and I don’t care, and I keep walking, and soon it’s over.

Here’s the thing: Whilst it is theoretically true that I am straight, it is a momentous lie.

I am a terrific liar.

I made out with a guy over summer, and boy, did that clear things up for me. It made sense. I’m not going to come out, or anything, not now. It would only complicate things. I’ll sort that out at university, you know, turning over a fresh leaf and all that.

There’s this other thing, too: Tooru may be a horrendous ass, but _God_ , I am so in love with him.

I ignore it. He doesn’t like me that way. Otherwise, he couldn’t date those sweaty, tanned guys.

It’s the only thing I can do. I can’t say anything else. I can’t say the truth. I can’t just shout into Tooru’s face, ‘ _Yes, yes! I’m in love with you! Go out with me!_ ’ since I know that Tooru thinks I’m straight along with the rest of civilisation, and I know that he doesn’t like me, and I know that he’d blow it off as a joke, and I know that even though it’s unhealthy, or whatever, it’s better to keep your feelings shut and bottled up than pushing them out there in the open. It’s too vulnerable. I’m not like that. I’d rather live a lie and have Tooru as a Best Friend TM than confess my feelings and ruin everything I care even a little about.

 

That night, not long after I order some food for me and my parents, who are— as always— working late at the hospital, Tooru calls me and, real quiet and fast, like it’s some great secret, blurts out, “Gas Exchange is playing a show at the Hideout and it’s not advertised and it’s gonna be great and you should totally come!”

I sigh.

“What?” I say.

“Gas Exchange.” he repeats, far slower this time, as though I were a child, “Gas Exchange is playing a show at the Hideout tonight. You should come.”

“What the fuck kind of a name is _Gas Exchange_?”

I can almost hear Tooru’s frown. He does this thing where he tilts his head and scrunches his head and has this half pout, half frown on his lips. It’s really cute.

“It’s Tetsuro’s band,” he says, “Did I mention that he’s in a band? Well, he is, and they’re really good, and they’re playing tonight, and _you’re_ coming with me.”

“I don’t want to.”

I’m a terrific liar.

“You do. You’re not going to let me go _alone_ ,” he answers, and I’m sure he’s grinning now, “I could get mugged, or raped, or drugged, or stabbed in an alley—”

“ _Fine_ ,” I hiss, “I’ll pick you up in my car.”

Tooru giggles. He fucking _giggles_.

“Okay,” he says, “I told Issei we’d meet him there—”

“Wait, what? _Tooru_ , I swear to—”

“Bye!” he shouts. I frown down at the screen. His contact picture is this horribly ugly photo of him. I took it half a year ago, without him knowing.

It’s hopeless. I’m already grabbing my keys and walking towards my car.

I call my mom from the car, while I’m driving out of parking lot. I’m a really shitty driver, but _boy_ , I can reverse like none other. I tell her some of my friends are playing at the Hideout, and she says, “Who? What? You’re hiding out?” and I repeat what I said slower, and she hums and says, “Right. Be back by eleven.” and then she has to go cut cancer out of someone.

Tooru lives in this house that looks sort of like mine, and once I pull up in his driveway, I sit in the car and put on some music and shoot him a text saying that I’m here, and I barely finish typing before he comes running out of his house, one black Adidas trainer on and the other in his hand, shouting, “Go, Hajime! Go, _go_!” all while jumping towards me. I turn on the ignition and he slides in, slamming the door shut with intense aggression.

I drive. I turn my head to look at him. He exhales a shaking breath before tilting his head my way and grinning, and _God_ , he is so beautiful, and _fuck_ , I am so gay.

“You okay?” I ask as Tooru pulls on his shoe.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “Why?”

I shrug, and he turns up the volume on the radio. Everything goes perfectly from there. Traffic’s not too bad, and the lights of the city look so nice on Tooru’s face as he opens the window and sticks his head out. I love the way the city smells. It’s all brackish lake water and soot and sweat and grease and I love it, and I love this song, and Tooru’s saying ‘ _I love this song._ ’ and he’s laughing and suddenly I am very aware of my existence.

 

Eventually, though, it ends. The Hideout is this dive bar made out of wooden planks and it’s nestled between a factory and some government building. There’s a short line out of the door, and I’m surprised anyone would willingly stand in line to see a band called Gas Exchange. Issei’s there, too, alone and he looks sort of angry.

I huddle in line with Tooru and him, and waiting outside in the face-scrunching cold, he’s still grinning and says, “You’ll love them. They’re _so_ brilliant.” as though he can read my thoughts.

I sure hope he can’t, since all he’d hear is perpetual screaming. I kick the gravel in the dirt and watch a dust cloud encircle my foot as Issei asks him how far he’s gone with Tetsuro.

“Not too far,” he answers, “He only just asked me out. We made out in the locker rooms, but he’s sort of a loser, I guess, so we’ll see what happens tonight.” He laughs.

I want to scream out loud, and then, we all shuffle into the Hideout, alone with Gas Exchange and a hundred strangers. It smells sort of off and it’s dark, but the pushing of bodies gives me an excuse to press against Tooru, so that’s alright.

Issei goes to get some beers, and I take one, mostly because I want something in my hand. I never know what to do with my hands, and then we make our way up close to the stage. The lights dim down, and then everyone’s clapping, and these three guys come out onstage. It turns out that Tetsuro is the bassist, and there’s a lead singer with horrifically gelled-up hair and on guitar, and another guy who’s playing drums. He’s tiny, with bright orange hair that can only be dyed, and it’s hilarious to see him play.

“We are Gas Exchange,” the singer screams into the microphone, “And we’re here to make you feel sad and think about death and stuff!”

I’m not sure how to describe this band’s music. It sounds like a hundred thousand weasels being dropped into a boiling ocean, and then I realise: I waited outside in the cold grey-lit car-exhausted frigidity to hear a band that fucking _sucks_.  

They play five songs. It’s not a lot, and thank _God_ it’s not a lot. I lost it after one of their lyrics, ‘ _So sad, so very, very sad. I am so sad. So very, very sad._ ’ was belted. It’s not a Billboard Hit, that’s for sure.

“Thank you!” the singer shouts once it’s all over, “We’re Gas Exchange and we’re here to _rock_!”

They aren’t here to rock. They leave the stage. Tooru’s clapping and screaming wildly beside me.

 

Later, Tetsuro and the singer snake down to join Tooru and Issei and I at the bar.

“You were amazing!” Tooru says, and he jumps towards Tetsuro to hug him. He puts his arms around his waist and pulls him close, kissing at his neck while Tooru giggles. I’m sort of worried I’m going to vomit.

“Thanks, babe,” he says in this hoarse, sultry voice. Who the _fuck_ calls guys ‘ _babe_ ’?

“This is Koutarou,” he continues, gesturing to the singer.

“’Sup?” he nods.

“I’m Issei,” Issei introduces himself, “This is Hajime.” he says, and thank the Lord he did. I was speechless. Koutarou had a piercing. A _piercing_. I suddenly felt like everyone here was marginally cooler than me and my Best Friends  TM.

Koutarou orders some shots.

“I don’t really drink. I’m driving.” I say, and Issei’s eyes widen. I realise that my duty has been passed onto him. He takes two shots. Tooru takes two as well. Tetsuro takes one, and he slides his hand up Tooru’s shirt, touching his bare hip.

“Did you guys enjoy the show?” Koutarou asks, “Pretty good, right? It’s from our new album.”

“You have an _album_?” I ask. It sounds like an insult. Koutarou doesn’t pick up on it.

“Yeah,” he answers, grinning, “It’s on Band Camp.”

“Wow.” Issei mouths.

Tetsuro pulls Tooru closer to him, then, and Tooru wraps his arms around his neck. Tetsuro whispers something in his ear, probably something dirty, and he gasps and hushes something back. A second later, they’re both gone, and I guess that he went to Tetsuro’s, or something, or to his car. I didn’t really want to think about it too much. It made me feel sick, and I leave half an after Tooru was gone. Koutarou isn’t really interested in Issei or me, which makes sense, and he excused himself a little while later to go talk to his Real Friends TM. That also makes sense to me. I know that I’m a bore. I say my goodbyes to Issei, and then I get in my car and send Tooru a text asking whether he was alright. He didn’t reply.

Annoyed, and little lonely, I set my car into gear and reverse and speed away. I don’t want to think too much about what happened.


	2. Iwaizumi Hajime and the Infinite Sadness

The next time I see Tooru is in school. He looks fine. I don’t ask what he did with Tetsuro or where they went because, firstly, I don’t really care, and secondly, I don’t want to know. Nothing really happens for the next couple days, until Friday.

It starts like this. It’s lunch, and we’re sitting in the Gay Straight Alliance club room, since they’re only four members or so in said club, and that means we’re basically allowed to do what we want.

“There’s a game tonight,” Tooru quips. He’s sitting on the table in front of me, and I mean literally on it, with his legs on the chair, and his shirt rides up a little. I can see the small of his back. I exhale shakily.

“What team?” Issei asks.

“Baseball,” Tooru grins, “We should go. They’re going to be an after party at his place.”

“I hate parties.” Takahiro mumbles.

“You never go to parties.” Issei replies.

“I do.” he answers.

“It’s not a party if there’s a tuba involved.”

Takahiro’s in the school band. He’s pretty good.

“Whatever,” Tooru says, “We’re going.”

And just like that, we did. It was in the night, too, and we sat up on the bleachers, with Issei, Takahiro, and I trying desperately to blend in with the rest of the mob before the game started. Tooru had gone down to the locker rooms to wish Tetsuro good luck, or something. I told him to tell him to break a leg. I meant it literally.

Before I knew it, the players ejaculate out of the lockers and onto the field, and Tetsuro makes this huge show of pulling Tooru towards him by the waist, like he did at the Hideout. It still pisses me off.

Tooru whispers something in his ear, and then runs off to sit with us, sandwiching himself between Issei and me. Issei shoots me a look, and the ‘ _Hang in there, buddy._ ’ remains unsaid between us.

“What the fuck where you doing back there?” I ask Tooru. Someone hits a ball with a loud metallic ring.  

Tooru laughs.

“Why do you care?” he says.

“I don’t know,” I answer, “I just do.”

Some player gets a homerun. It’s not our team. We fucking suck. We’re playing some Christian school, a team stocked with huge, gigantic apes with beards. Tooru hates guys like that. He huffs beside me.

“Looks like you should have encouraged your boyfriend some more.” Takahiro snorts.

“I _did_ ,” Tooru replies, “I promised him I’d blow him if we win.”

I bit my tongue.

“ _God_ ,” he continues, “I guess I’ve got to do it.”

I never knew what he meant with that, in hindsight, but it doesn’t matter. The fun starts. He leads the cheers.

“Buy!” he shouts.

“SELL!”

“Trade!”

“BARTER!”

“YOU’RE MUCH BIGGER, BUT WE ARE MUCH SMARTER!”

He’s good like that. Such a popular, golden boy, all bleached teeth and even skin. It’s sort of unfair.

Tetsuro scores a point. The crowd goes fucking _mental_ , Tooru right up there at the front, leaning down towards the field.

“C’mon!” he screams at Tetsuro, “ _Hit that ball as hard you fuck me_!”

He must shove his dignity and pride far away.

Tetsuro hollers as a response. The crowd screeches.

The captain of the Christian school calls for a time-out and complained about Tooru, pointing at him angrily. We were down by ten points. Tooru stood up.

“What?!” he says, “You have a problem with me!?”

The coach screams, “You’re bothering my players!”

“THAT’S THE POINT, SHERLOCK!” he screams back. The referee comes and kicks him out. I follow him, since once he’s in that mood, it can get kind of ugly. He loves the attention. It makes him feel wanted.

It’s dark, and in the distance, you can still hear the crowd and someone got some points, or whatever. Tooru walks on the grass, though, and the light from the stadium hits the back of his head, and he sort of looks like an angel, or something. He’s looking down at his feet, and I’m walking behind him.

“Hey,” I say, and it comes out softer than I intended.

“Oh,” he turns and replies. He looks surprised, like he didn’t think I’d be here.

“Yeah.” I say, and he’s looking at me. God, he’s so pretty. His eyes are large and deep and glossy and his eyelashes are long, too. His skin is so pale that it looks like his eyes are far darker than they really are, in the moonlight, since, really, they’re this shade of hazel. Now, they look entirely alien, and almost black. I step closer towards him without even realising it.

“Why aren’t you at the game?” he asks.

I shrug.

“I’m not really into baseball.” I answer.

“Me neither.”

I laugh, then, and he smiles at me like it’s a fucking miracle.

“I don’t like his band, either,” he says, “They’re _awful_. He made me come and watch him practice,” he snorts, “ _God_ , I wish you could have been there.”

I sigh.

He steps closer, then.

“You’re coming to the after party, right?” he asks. I nod.

“Good,” he says, “It’d be a shame if you weren’t there.”

I don’t ask why. It doesn’t matter, not when he trails his fingers along my palm, and I swear to you I almost flinch, it’s so gentle and unexpected of him. He’s such a fast-paced person, always loud and wild, and so when he’s quiet and thoughtful like this, it’s sudden and clashing. I look at him, and he’s looking right back, and the only thing I can think about it that sometimes it seems to me that the purpose of life is to convert energy into beauty, and I know that’s not true. I _know_ that’s not rationally true, but, the thing is, sometimes it’s okay for things not to be rationally true.

I open my mouth to speak, but before I get a word out, the whistle blows.

Hanamaki and Issei are one of the first to come outside.

“We lost,” Issei says, “That’s to be expected, though. We don’t even have a mascot, _that’s_ how shitty we are.” Tooru laughs and it’s loud and all of a sudden he’s morphed back into that raging avenger of adolescence, that golden-bi-boy everyone loves.

“Come on,” Hanamaki says, “Let’s get out of here. I want to see Tetsuro’s place. I bet he has a pool. He seems like the kid who had a pool in middle school.”

 

Tetsuro does not have a pool. He has a pretty ordinary house. His parents are out for dinner, and so it was just Tooru, Issei, Hanamaki and I, and then Tetsuro and the rest of the older team members, some guy named Eita, who was sort of pretty, but a horrible baseball player, really, and this tiny guy named Morisuke, who Tooru swore was trans or something, I don’t really care, and then there was Koutarou, again. He isn’t on the team, he doesn’t even _go_ here, and yet he recognised us from before, which was nice enough.

I expected there to be more people, truth be told, but I guess you don’t really feel like partying and having fun if you lose.

Tetsuro doesn’t seem bothered, though. He merely takes out some plastic cups and some wine and beer and other forms of cheap, bottled alcohol, and pours himself and Tooru a drink and then we’re all sitting in a circle in the living room. I’m right opposite Tooru, which is wonderful, because that means I get front row seats for the feature motion picture which is PDA.

Tetsuro’s got his hands on Tooru’s thighs and he’s practically sitting in his lap. Tooru leans back and rests his head on his shoulder, which is funny, since he’s a little taller than him. _Athletes_ , man.

“Best Day/Worst Day!” Tooru announces out of nowhere, “We are all going to puke if we just drink, so let’s slow it down with a drinking game.”

“Never heard of it,” Tetsuro says.

“I just made it up,” Tooru grins, and he takes a sip from his drink, “Everybody tells the story of their best day. The best storyteller doesn’t have to drink. Then everybody tells the story of their worst day, and the best storyteller doesn’t have to drink. Then we keep going until one you quits.”

“How do you know it’ll be one of us?” Morisuke asks.

Tooru laughs.

“My dear,” he says, “I am the best drinker _and_ the best storyteller. Hajime, you start. Best day of your life.”

“Can I take a minute to think of one?” I say around my beer bottle.

“Couldn’t have been that good if you have to think about it,” Hanamaki says.

“Fuck off.”

“ _Touchy_!” Issei hisses.

I think about it.

“Are you done yet?” Tooru asks.

“Be patient,” I say, “ _God_.”

A second later.

“What about now?” he asks.

“ _Fine_!” I say, “Best day of my life was five years ago. We went to the planetarium for your birthday, which sounds dumb but it wasn’t. I don’t know. It was just nice. I mean, I didn’t do anything. You were so fucking happy and excited and you looked all pretty, and I just sat there, but— whatever. Great day. Five years ago. Best day of my life.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Tooru asks. The alcohol must have hit me harder than I thought.

“No— yes, _no_ ,” I answer, “I meant— the _situation_ was pretty.”

Eita snorts.

“That story ended up being a hell of a lot gayer than I thought it would be,” Issei says.

“Deal with it.” I say, and I felt sort of defensive or angry. I mean, I wasn’t lying. That really had been the best day of my whole goddamn life.

“I’ve still got you beat,” Tooru laughs, “My turn. The best day of my life was eight years ago. I was nine years old, and my sister and I went to the zoo. She liked the monkeys. I liked the elephants. That was the best day ever, end of story.”

“That’s it?” Tetsuro asks, “That’s the best day of your whole life?”

“Yeah,” he answers.

“Lame.” says Morisuke.

I don’t think it’s lame. I think that it was vague, sure, but there was a reason for it, other than furthering his mysteriousness like he’s some manic-pixie-dream-girl. See, the reason going to the zoo with his sister was that she was in a car crash the day after. She’s older than him, and she was engaged and they had a little boy named Takeru. Boy, that kid is really sweet. He looks up to Tooru a lot, which makes sense, since they spend a lot of time together, ever since the accident. His sister was badly injured. She’s dead now.

“Alright,” says Tetsuro, “My turn. The best day of my life was the first time I performed on stage with _Gas Exchange_ ,” Koutarou _aw_ -ed, then, and Tetsuro laughed, “I know we kind of suck and all, and we don’t play in order to get a record deal. It’s just so much fun. I love it, so... Best day of my life.”

“Fuckin’ same,” says Koutarou around his drink, and they laugh, then. It’s sort of sweet.

“I can beat that.” says Eita, “The best day of my life was the day I got my scholarship granted. I mean, my parents live out in the countryside, and I couldn’t afford to go to an academy otherwise and all, so, I guess that’s the best day of my life.”

“You’re such a fucking cliché,” I say, laughing, and he waves a hand and laughs, too. It was nice. I like the guy. He seemed _normal_.

“Rich kids,” he sighs, and Morisuke shoves him for that. He’s on scholarship, too.

“Want to know my best day?” he asks.

“That’s the game, dude.” says Tetsuro.

“The best day of my life hasn’t happened yet, but I know it. I see it every day,” he says, “the best day of my life is the day I buy my mom a huge fucking house, and not just out in the woods, but in the middle of where the rich kids live, with all of your parents. I’m not buying a mortgage either, I’m buying it with cash, and I’m driving my mom there and then she’ll get out and look at this house and I’ll hand her the keys and say, ‘Thanks’ She filled out my application to this place, and she let me come here, and that’s no easy thing to do. _That’s_ the best day of my life.”

Issei takes a sip of the bottle in the middle of the circle and passes it onto Hanamaki, who passes it onto me.

“I lose,” says Issei, “I wanted to say that the best day of my life was the day I lost my virginity.”

“Wah- _hey_!” shouts Hanamaki, and they high-five. I knew it. I swear to you, I do not know a single straight person.

I tilt the bottle back and swallow a few times, and so does everyone else. Tooru drowns the last quarter. He unscrews the next bottle, smiling at Tetsuro. He’s sitting in between Tetsuro’s legs, now, with his arms around him.

“Now, what’s your worst day?” he asks.

“I’ll start,” he says, “Worst day of my life was the day one Ushijima Wakatoshi broke up with me.”

“ _Seriously_?” Morisuke sneers.

“Yes,” he continues, “Ushijima Wakatoshi is the world’s most gigantic dick. He broke up with me via status update,” he scrambles to pull his phone out of his pocket, then, and shows us the screen.

_the more i think about it the more i think y ruin a gr8 friendship? i still think tooru’s awesum tho._

Tetsuro is the first to burst out laughing. Koutarou follows soon after. Tooru sniffs indigently as everyone else follows.

“What the _fuck_?” Koutarou asks, “You dated someone who thinks there’s a ‘u’ in awesome?”

Tooru sniffs once more.

“They dated for a year.” I say around my bottle.

Koutarou gasps.

“No,” he gapes, “ _No_!”

“Shit,” Tetsuro whistles, “I can’t beat that. Well, maybe I can. The worst day of my life was when my dad left. He’s old— he’s like seventy now— and he was old when he married my mom, and he still cheated. And she caught him, and she got pissed, so he hit her. And then she kicked him out, and he left. I was here, and my mom called, and she didn't tell me the whole story with the cheating and everything and the hitting until later. She just said that he was gone and not coming back. And I haven't seen him since. All that day, I kept waiting for him to call me and explain it, but he never did. He never called at all. I at least thought he would say goodbye or something. _That_ was the worst day.”

It’s silent, for a while .I hadn’t expected that, I mean, I really wanted to hate the guy, but with those stories, he’s making it really fucking hard to.

“You got me beat, too,” I say, “My worst day was in seventh grade, when some guy pissed on my gym clothes, and the teacher said I had to wear my uniform or I’d fail the class, and I cried and then I worse them. That was the day I stopped caring what people do. I just _don’t_.”

Issei laughs.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “ _Wow_ , that’s shitty.”

“Tell me yours so I can laugh at your pain.” I say, and we grin at one another. This whole thing suddenly feels very elementary school like.

“My worst day was the day in middle school when our principal retired and we had this weird minute of silence to commemorate his achievements,” Issei says, leaning back a little and looking at the ceiling, “It was super weird, I mean, it’s not like he died or anything, but, anyway, it was super silent, and I farted.”

“You farted?” Koutarou wheezes.

“Yeah,” he answers, “I farted.”

“That’s the worst day of your whole life?” Tooru asks.

“Yeah.” Issei replies.

 “Whatever. I’m bored. Let’s play something else,” Tooru says, since he’s impulsive like that, and a little drunk, “Let’s play dare or dare. Quick, someone dare me.”

 “Uh,” Koutarou stammers, “I don’t know, man. Make out with Tetsuro?”

“That’s not a dare, we’re dating,” Tooru says quickly, “Ask me a dare.”

It’s silent once more, then:

“Alright,” Issei says, “I’ve got one. Hang on,” he gets up, then, and wobbles to the bathroom. He returns with a tube of toothpaste.

“Okay,” he continues, “I want you to mime one of your infamous blowjobs on this tube of toothpaste.” he says, pointing the tube at Tooru.

In that moment, I half-wished he would have said no, but, unfortunately and thankfully, he nods and grins.

He shows all of us.

He shows all of us, in great detail. Never have I so wanted to be Crest Complete.

We all laugh, then, and then we all take a sip of our drinks. I drown mine.

“I dare you,” Hanamaki says, then, slowly, “I dare you to spend ten minutes in that locked closet with Hajime.”

“Alright,” says Tooru, standing quickly. He’s a little wobbly on his legs, but I can’t judge, since I am too. I don’t even know why I follow him. I’m too drunk to care.

Issei locks us inside and sets a timer. We’re alone, then, and I suddenly don’t know what to say.

Tooru sighs, then, and falls against Hajime.

“I’m so sleepy,” he hums, “ _Wow_ , I am so drunk.”

“Me too,” I say.

I laugh. I’m sure I look nervous, and then he tilts his head towards me.

We’re kissing.

It was that quick and simple.

Our tongues dance back and forth in each other's mouth until there was no her mouth and my mouth but only our mouths intertwined. He tastes like fruity liquor and cherry chap-stick, and I am _dying_. I breathe into his mouth as though I am a drowning man, and it really feels like that. Tooru is so warm, and so close to me, and it feels so wrong and yet so _right_.

His hand comes to my face and I feel his soft fingers tracing the line of my jaw, and then he makes himself a little shorter than he really is, and I place my hands on his hips and waist, since I have no idea what else to do with them, I mean, I told you, I never know what to do with my hands.

He presses up against me, and I pull away for a moment, to say something along the lines of ‘ _I love you, but what are you doing?_ _Do you even **know** what it is that you’re doing?_ ’

He puts a finger to my lips and then we’re kissing again.

I pull away once more.

“What about Tetsuro?” I ask. My breath is coming far quicker than I want it to be.

He shushed me once more.

“Less tongue, more lips.” he says.

I try my best. I think that the tongue is the whole point, but he’s the expert. He grabs my hand, then, and pulls it down to his ass. I feel horribly conscious about myself. I squeeze. at his insistent, and he sighs.

“You’re good at this,” he whispers over my lips, “Hajime, I—”

He’s interrupted by Issei knocking on the door, and then he’s pushing me away, like I were burning his skin, or something.

I should have said something, in hindsight, but I couldn’t.

 

He ends up staying the night at Tetsuro’s.

 

The next time I see him, nothing changed. He’s still the same, and I feel like _shit_. I walk home alone that day.

That night, I get two texts, one of them from my mom, asking what I want for dinner, and the other is from Tooru, surprisingly.

‘ _We should talk_ ’ it says. I reply with ‘ _Ok_ ’. I want to seem completely chill, relaxed, and definitely not clingy, which I am, and in control of my own life, which I am not.

After that, he doesn’t answer, or at least, not until long after midnight.

‘ _Come over to my place tomorrow,_ ’ he writes, and then, after a long pause, ‘ _I broke up with Tetsuro._ ’

It’s shameful to deny that I wasn’t happy. I liked Tooru when he was single the most, because then he was _just_ Tooru, and not always talking about some other person and what they would think about whatever he was saying or doing. He was so dependent on other people’s validation, which makes no sense to me. I mean, you do not exist to please someone else. You exist for your own sake.


	3. Iwaizumi Hajime Gets It Together

I wake up the next morning at six-thirty, on a Saturday, to the sweet melody of Elevator Action Death Parade, which is this video game that Tooru and I play a lot. It’s pretty good. The sounds of automatic gunfire blast above the menacing, bass-heavy background music of the game, and I groan, loudly, before rolling over in my bed and falling out of it, limbs flailing.

Tooru’s there, sitting on my floor in front of my bed, staring up at the T.V. screen and pulling the controller up and to the right, as if that would help him escape certain death. I have a similar habit.

“Can you at least mute it?” I ask.

In hindsight, I should have asked ‘ _How the **fuck** did you get in here?_ ’, but when you’re friends with Tooru for this long, nothing really surprises you anymore. He’s done this before, too. He did it a lot when he was younger. He’d climb through his window and run to my place, to my old house, which was next to his, and climb into mine. We’d talk all night, then, and look up at the stars. It was nice.

“Hajime,” he says, now, in that horrid condescending tone of his, “The sound is an integral part of the artistic experience of this game.”

I grunt in affirmation and sit down next to him.

He looks like shit.

“You look like shit,” I tell him.

He frowns.

“I lied,” he says, then, “I didn’t break up with Tetsuro. He broke up with me. It was simultaneous, though.”

That’s probably why he came to see me at six in the morning, I realise, then.

“Why?” I ask, since that’s what he wants me to say, I suppose.

“He doesn’t like bi-boys.”

I sigh, then. I knew there was an element of douche bag about the guy.

“The Venn diagram of boys who don’t like bisexual boys and boys you don’t want to date is a circle.” I answer, and it’s true.

“Thanks.” replies Tooru. It sounds surprisingly, heart-wrenchingly _real_.

It’s silent, then, or, at least until Tooru loses the game. He groans in annoyance, and tilts his head back to exhale angrily. I bite back a smile at the sight. It’s too damn endearing.

He turns off the console, then, and stares at me.

“I’ve been single for,” he pauses to look at his watch, “Five hours— _five hours_ — and I’m already bored and lonely, and sort of horny, but in a sad kind of way, not in the fun way.”

I frown.

“Okay,” I reply. I didn’t know what else to say.

“How do you manage being so perpetually single?” he asks.

I shrug.

“I don’t want a relationship,” I reply, “They’re stressful. I don’t need that. I don’t need _romance_.”

“C’mon,” he says, “We are all differently broken, semi-functional, rusted out love machines.”

When he says things like that, it makes it really difficult to not want to reach out and hold him, just hold him, and keep him secure from all the harms in life, everything _bad_ out there. It’s terrifying, to feel like that, but it’s so natural, too, painfully so.

“I’m tired,” he states, and shifts, lying down on my shoulder. I don’t think I’m breathing, at that point, since I can feel his breath fan out on my skin, and we’re so damn close. All I can think about is how soft his lips were, and how nice it all felt.

He falls asleep like that.

It’s horrifyingly adorable.

I reach out and hold his hand after the first ten minutes. He flinches under my touch, just a little, and then he relaxes and keeps sleeping.

 _God_ , I am so in love with him.

I fall asleep soon after.

 

My back aches like hell when I wake up. Tooru wakes up soon after.

He eats breakfast at mine, and chats with my mom and all, and then she heads off to work and then we’re alone again, and it’s silent once more.

“Do you like boys, Hajime?”

I choke on my coffee.

He hits my back, far too hard.

“Well,” he says, “Do you?”

He's got this smile. It kills you. It's slow and sweet and merciless. It's got this glittering ambiguity, and shouts with brute amusement the question I've been asking myself ever since guys stopped being gross: Does he like me, or does he _like_ me?

“What?” I ask instead.

“Boys!”

“Yes, I know of them.”

“Do you like them?” he replies.

 I sigh, then, long and guttering.

 “I don't fucking know,” I answer, “It depends on the boy. I don't like _you_ , that's for sure.”

 Man, I'm a terrific liar.

He laughs. It’s horribly artificial, and it haunts me. It gives me the feeling that he knows everything about it, and that he understands me more than I understand myself. In that moment, I feel nothing more than dread and fear, for I am ethereally scared that he might now that I am two things:

  1. Not straight
  2. Horrifically in love with Oikawa _Tall, Bi, and Ready to Try_ Tooru.



I suddenly feel emasculated, and dreadfully vulnerable, and so, I wait for the earth to collapse and hell to swallow me.

 

That doesn’t happen. He ends up going home soon after.

The next time I see him is at an unlikely place.

It happens like this:

It’s after school, at a bus stop, with Issei. I’m on my way to get a fake I.D. I’m seventeen, now, and this concert Issei and Takahiro invited me to is twenty and up only, and the band is actually good, and I mean _way_ better than Gas Exchange, they’re not even on the same level. Tooru couldn’t come. This plays a key point in the narration and climax of this story.

“You excited?” Issei says.

“No.” I say. Like I said, I’m great at lying.

He ends up leading me to a nondescript glass door next to a hot-dog restaurant, and we head up the stairs, to this tiny office like shop.

“Hey, Yuji.” says Issei, to this heavily tattooed guy who appears to be the shop’s only employee.

“Hajime’s lost his I.D.,” explains Issei.

Yuji smiles at me.

“That’s a shame, buddy.” he says, and he slides over this blank sheet of paper.

“I need your full name, your address, date of birth, height, weight, and eye colour.” he says, “And a thousand Yen.”

I put the money on the counter, and _boy_ , do I feel _badass_. We sit down in the folding chairs, then, and invent my identity. I’m Daichi H. Tokahiro— yeah, _Daichi_ , I’m hilarious like that—and my address is 1070 Shibuya, and I’m 180 centimetres tall. I made myself a little taller than I really am.

I hand the paper to Yuji. He holds up a camera and says, “Smile!”

I don’t.

“I’ll just be a minute,” says Yuji, and then I slump a little in my seat. He comes out waving a driver’s licence a minute later.

“Mr. Tokahiro,” he laughs, “Your identification.”

It’s perfect.

“It’s the _Mona Lisa_ of I.D.s,” swoons Issei, “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” says Yuji, “Alright, buddy. I’m going to take care of some business.”

He smiles and holds up a joint, and I am mystified as to how someone can be such a genius.

We’re walking down the stairs, then, and I can feel the I.D. in my front pocket, against my thigh, and it feels like I’ve got a ticket to the whole fucking world.

“You’re a man, now.” Issei says, and I’ll be damned if I don’t feel like one.

It ends up all going to shit, though. Issei and Takahiro and I get some food, later, and then we walk around before getting in line outside of the Storage Room, which is where the concert is. It’s cold out, and I pull out my wallet and move the I.D. to the front picture window.

“Let me see it,” Takahiro says, “ _Damn_ , Hajime. You don’t look like a ten year old!”

We shuffle to the beginning of the line.

“I.D.,” the bouncer tells me. I pull out my wallet and then he shines a flashlight on it, and then turns it on my face, then back to the I.D.

“Kid,” he says, “You’re eighteen.”

“No,” I say, “I’m twenty.”

“Well,” he replies, and hands me by I.D., “You’re goddamn driver’s license says you’re eighteen.”

I stare at it. I add.

I turn eighteen in May.

I step away from the entrance.

Takahiro is laughing his ass off, and Issei is cackling.

“You’re fucking stoner made it with the wrong year,” I say to Issei.

“I’m sorry, man.” he replies, though he can’t be _that_ sorry, or else he’d stop laughing.

“We can try to get you in,” Takahiro suggests. I shake my head.

“Just go,” I reply, “Call me when it’s over. I’ll just go get something to eat, or something.”

And here’s the thing. they go. They get back into line and I watch then walk into the club and neither of them turns around to say anything.

It’s miserable out, and I’m out here alone with my worthless one thousand Yen I.D.

I wish Tooru were here. I can see him in my mind. He’d laugh, and laugh, and say that it’s totally worthless. It’s not, though. I can buy cigarettes, even though I don’t smoke, and I can get alcohol, and I can illegally register to vote. I can—

That’s when it hit me. I can go to a porn store.

And so I go.

Across the Storage Room, there’s this place, Koushi’s, with a neon-sign and no windows, and I’ll be damned if I don’t put that I.D. to use.

I pull the door open, and step into a room bright with fluorescent light, and to my left, this guy is staring at me.

“Browsing or tokens?” he mumbles. His tag says Koushi. He’s the owner, I presume.

“What?” I ask.

“Browsing,” he repeats, as though I were a child, “Or tokens?”

“Browsing.”

“Okay,” he says, “Go on in.”

“What?”

“Go ahead,” he sighs.

“You’re not going to I.D. me?”

The guy laughs.

“What, are you twelve, or something?”

“I’m eighteen.” I say.

“Well, yeah. That’s what I figured. Go ahead.”

“No,” I say forcefully, “I.D. me.”

“Alright, man.” he sighs, “Can I see some I.D.?”

I hand it to him. He glances at it and hands it back.

“Thanks, Daichi.”  he says.

And then I’m in a porn store.

It’s kind of boring, actually. It’s like a regular store, with shelves of DVDs and magazines, except a regular store doesn’t have any devices for spanking, whereas this place has several. The place is empty other than the employee, and there’s this corny jazz music playing over the intercom. It’s embarrassing.

I decide to search for a momentum, something to prove to Issei and Takahiro that I was here. I need to find the funniest, grossest thing I can find, which is how I come to settle upon a DVD called ‘ _Babes and Horses: **Hay** , let’s get it on!_’

I go to the register to buy it. I also grab a tutorial on anal fingering. That’s for me, though.

“Just this, please,” I tell the guy from before.

He rings it up.

“Nine hundred, please.” he says.

“ _Nine hundred_?” I ask, incredulous.

He nods.

I hand him my debit card. My parent’s look at the statements, but they don’t know what the hell this place is. The name is normal, anyhow, it’s just _Koushi’s_ , and that could be a fucking noodle bar, for all they know.

He looks at the card. He looks at me. He looks at the card again.

That’s the exact moment I realise that my card says Hajime Iwaizumi and _not_ Daichi H. Tokahiro.

The guy sighs.

“Hajime Iwaizumi. _Hajime Iwaizumi_. Where have I seen that name before? Oh, right: _not_ on your driver’s licence.” he says.

“It’s my card,” he says, “I know my pin. Just— ring it up, please.”

“You’re a _thief_!” the guy says.

I had not expected that. I thought he was joking, for a moment. He’s not, though. He points to me with a long finger. It turns out people who own porn stores can have strong moral principles, too.

“Hey, kiddo!” he shouts behind him into the backroom, “Get out here for a moment and cover for me. I need to sort something out.”

The door sways open.

“Yeah,” the other employee begins to say, “I’m here—”

He freezes. I do, too.

It’s Tooru.

It’s Oikawa fucking Tooru.

He opens his mouth, and then closes it, and _God_ , does he look good in the neon pink lights of the porn store. They cast these shadows on his face, these sharp edges and contours, and he almost looks like a different person. He looks older. He looks hot.

“It’s fine,” he says, slowly, to Koushi, the other guy at the register, “I know him. He’s not a thief. He’s got a fake I.D. He’s seventeen, really. His birthday’s in the summer.”

“ _Oh_ , thank God,” Koushi exhales a sigh of relief.

Koushi rings it up. He bags it, and I grab it from him, with Tooru’s eyes staring incessantly at me.

Tooru steps away from the register, then, and walks towards the aisles of tits and dick. I follow him.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I work here.”

“You can’t work here, you’re underage.” I say.

“I’m eighteen.”

“No you’re not, you’re—”

“I’m _eighteen_.” he hisses.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Tooru leers.

“I’m learning to bake a fucking cake.” I say, “What the _fuck_ do you think I’m doing here?”

Tooru’s eyes dart down to the plastic bag. _Anal for Dummies_ is peeking out. He looks back up at me and raises and eyebrow.

“You’re into that kind of stuff, huh?” he asks, “Why can’t you just look it up online like a normal person? The poor girl...”

“It’s not for a girl.” I say.

 _Shit_.

“Oh.” he replies.

I inhale a deep breath.

“I’m really gay.” I say.

“Oh.” he says once more.

“Yep,” I say, and I pop the ‘p’ like some pretentious asshole, like Tooru sometimes does.

“Surprise,” I continue, with minimal enthusiasm. Tooru doesn’t really seem too amused, either. He looks like he’s about to fucking cry, really.

“You know what sucks about love?” he says. He’s stacking some DVDs into a shelf, in the BDSM category.

“What?” I ask.

“That it’s so tied to truth.”

I don’t know what he’s trying to say. It’s too damn complicated.

“You should leave.” he says, then, and I do. I walk out of the store with the black plastic bag holding a DVD called _Babes and Horses: **Hay** , let’s get it on!_ and _Anal for Dummies_ and I suddenly feel like crying, too.

“Okay,” I say, to no one in particular, and I swear to you that my voice did not just crack.

(It did.)

 

I get home four minutes before my curfew, and my parents are on the couch. My dad mutes the T.V.

“How was it?” he asks.

“Pretty good,” I say.

“Did they play your favourite songs?” my Mom says.

“Yeah,” I say, “Yeah. It was good.” I stare at them for a second. I think of Tooru and neon lights.

“Okay,” I say, “I’m going to go to bed.”

“Why don’t you watch some T.V. with us?” Dad asks.

“I’m tired,” I say flatly, and turn to go up the stairs.

I end up not going to bed. I go to my room and pull out my phone and start reading about Karl Marx. I think of Tooru.

I think of what it felt like to kiss him. It was so _nice_ and really, _really_ hot, too. I wish I could kiss him right now. I can’t, though. All I have is my pillow. I smash my face down into it and groan. I feel so lonely, and, suddenly, nothing is alright anymore.

 

The next morning, I lose it. I wake up in a sticky mess, my boxers are soiled, I think of Tooru. I think of him, and nothing else. It’s sort of weird, to be so invested in one person, but it just feels sort of right. It feels like fate.

The truth of the matter is that Tooru isn’t perfect. He isn’t even a wholly morally righteous person, someone who always does what’s best, and all, or at least, he isn’t one yet. The truth of the matter is to live a good life, as a good person, and it doesn’t matter how you get there. It just matters that you do.

And with that in mind, I end up pushing the bed sheets away from me and grab my car keys and drive to Tooru, like a mad man. My nails mark the steering wheel. I feel sort of angry, boiling over with this intense frustration, and I realise that this emotion is occurring to me due to two facts:

  1. I came out to my Best Friend TM in a porn store and nothing is as it should be.
  2. Said Best Friend TM might have maybe confessed his love to me, or something of the sort, while stacking hardcore fetish porn DVDs.



I end up parking horrifically in front of Tooru’s neat house and knocking/ringing at his door. I’m heaving and entirely out of breath when his mom greets me, and I say that I need to speak to Tooru, and she tells me he’s upstairs in his room.

I run up the stairs, then, and tear open the door, and there he is. He’s hunched over in his bed, sitting on the mattress with the blanket over his body, and then he turns around to stare at me, eyes wide.

“Hi.” I exhale, grabbing the edge of his door frame. I’m hunched over, like I’ve just run a fucking marathon.

“I think we should date.” I say.

Tooru blinks at me.

“Okay.” he says.

“Okay? What do you mean _okay_?” I laugh. It’s absurd.

“I agree,” he says, sniffing, “Let’s date.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he echoes. He’s so pale, covered under his duvet.

I make an indignant noise, sort of a cross between a groan and a sigh. He drops the blanket, then, expression cold and stony and entirely terrifying. It’s like he knows that if he touches me, I will probably lose it and start crying or something, or implode, so instead he just stands there and reaches out and holds my hand, and with someone like Tooru, if he’s next to you, you know it all. All he has to do is stay, and you know he’s there.

There’s this part of my that thinks that I don’t deserve this, or that this isn’t happening, but it _is_ happening, and it’s wonderful. I look up, and he’s looking right back at me. His eyes are dark and entirely alien.

“I never kiss on the first date,” he says, and I look at him with total incomprehension, “... but sometimes I make exceptions.”

Tooru is pretty tall, and he is surprisingly, undeniably attraction. His skin is smooth, his smile is gentle, and his eyes have this innate hope in them and crazy longing and ridiculous giddiness in them. It’s such a contrast to what they looked like before, dark and ominous, but he’s like that, from zero to a hundred in under sixty seconds.

It’s not like kissing a pillow case. It’s like kissing Tooru. Finally, it’s only Tooru and me. I close my eyes, and lean in towards him, and he’s smiling when we stop. There’s nobody here but Tooru and I, and yet, I suddenly feel like someone’s watching us, some ethereal deity, or something, guarding us from the Heavens above. I feel enormous. Tooru’s smiling. He’s smiling at me, because of me.

God, I wish you could have been there.

In the end, I have no idea what truth has to do with love, and vice versa, and it’s way, way, _way_ too early to confess my undying love to Tooru, or something. I don’t want that right now.

I’m thinking in terms of truth. I want this to be truthful. The truth is becoming increasingly clear.

It’s time for us to figure out how the hell this is ever going to work. 

And that’s fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's all. i hope you liked it!! it was huge fun to write!!


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